Creatively Green is the blog of freelance writer, avid crafter, and La Mamma Verde (the green mom), Wenona Napolitano.
This blog features everything about her creatively green life from green crafting to eco-gardening, green parenting and green living in general.
You will also find articles on writing, being a mom writer, and see guest posts from authors.
Full of green musings, eco-product reviews, book notes, eco-friendly crafts and so much more.

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Welcome to the crafty green blog of freelance writer, author of The Everything Green Wedding Book, and write at home mom of 3 - Wenona Napolitano.

At The Creatively Green Write at Home Mom you'll find advice and musings about being a writer, links to writing sites, book recommendations, and all kinds of random thoughts about being a write at home mom.

You'll also find guest posts and articles from other writers and interviews with write at home moms as well as green product reviews, craft ideas and tutorials- and all kinds of random thoughts about being a green, writing mom.

No one would guess that Sapphy, awesome whirlwind of Maze badassness, grew up sheltered in the Fae realm. Witnessing a murder drove her into the humans’ broken cities to hide, but now she’s back, going undercover to keep history from repeating as the tournament to choose a new Fae queen dawns.

The only pebble in her shit-kicking boot is the jaw-gritting interference of Nathe Amergin, a Fae Enforcer whose solemn violet eyes set her skin to sizzle.

After the loss of his beloved sister, Nathe saved his last shred of sanity by clamping a lid on his emotions and forging a path to justice. When this frustrating, blue-eyed, my-go-or-I’ll-blow female informs him of a possible threat to the realm, his offer of support is genuine, if reluctant.

While he’s willing to work with her to protect his people, this sinful smart-ass skates perilously close to unleashing an avalanche of passion that, as the final choosing looms and whispers turn to screams, could bury them both.

Product Warnings

Contains ear-blushing sex between a flighty Fae with a mean air jab and a grounded Elemental who makes her earth move. Add a murderous queen clinging to power, and sabotage that strikes out of thin air. Anyone got ear plugs?

“Where is she?”
Nathe ran a hand down the back of his head, rubbing at the pressure point in
his nape. “How did you fare at the dress shop? She must look acceptable,
Tomas.”

“Trust me.
Saphaia looks…acceptable.”

The edge of
humor was not welcome. Not tonight. “Where is she?” Nathe stressed. “The
announcements of competitors will begin soon. It will not look correct if she
hasn’t mingled first.”

Tomas blinked at
the rush of words. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“Like a virgin
on her wedding night.”

“Can you stop
thinking about sex for one moment, Tomas? This is serious. So many aspects of
this plan can fall apart if she makes one wrong step.”

“Do you have so
little trust in her?” Tomas pushed his hands into the pockets of his dress
suit, a little more fashionable than Nathe’s own, the color of a good claret
that complimented his dark skin.

Nathe sniffed.
“You have known her one day. How can you have so much?”

Tomas shrugged,
ignoring the giggles of passing noblewomen as they headed for the buffet. “She
is a straightforward woman, a species I could get used to. Even attracted to.”

“What does that
mean?”

“As I said, she
is an intriguingly open woman. No false modesty. And she has an enticing form.”

Dark emotions
swirled in Nathe’s gut at the thought of Sapphy pressing her lips to Tomas, her
body astride his friend’s.

The earth
threatened to tremor beneath him until he quelled it. “What happened at the
gown shop?”

“We bought
several outfits. We talked about life and love.” Tomas tilted his chin. “Are
you looking in that direction, my friend?”

“No.”

“Then I pity the
blind man.” With those puzzling words, Tomas slapped a hand on Nathe’s arm.
“For all the good it may bring you, she’s on the stairs.”

Hit with a flood
of relief, Nathe twisted to where Tomas now pointed.

And stood
frozen.

His breath
halted, his heart pounded once before forgetting its next action entirely. The
dancers melted away, the shouts of laughter and revelry faded, even Tomas
blurred until there was but the dark.

And her.

Sapphy stood
poised at the top of the marble staircase like an angel from a painting, one
graceful hand brushing the bannister, her face in profile as she looked away.

Her long, lithe
body was wrapped in silk. The gown was a waterfall of blue, darkest blueberry
at the bodice melting into crisp ice at the hem. Baring creamy white shoulders,
it cupped her round breasts, slipped down to a waist he could span with both
hands, before flaring out to the floor.

Her face had
been painted, her lips a pale pink, her eyes a dramatic storm of smoke and ice.
Sapphires trickled from her earlobes and graced her throat, simple,
understated, elegant.

But it was her
hair that was magnificent. A sweep of silvery-blue, the color of ice crystals
on the verge of melting, it had been left loose to wave down to her hips, the
different blues shimmering in the electric lights. A crown of bluebells adorned
her head, a dramatic contrast between sensuality and innocence. The awakening.

She moved like
the wind she called her own when she began to descend, a rolling of her hips
that had Nathe’s blood sizzling, snapping, aching for her. His body stiffened,
but he drifted toward her, unable to stop himself. Drawn together, he thought.
Magnets.

And still there
was nobody but them as he met her at the middle. She spoke not a word, but her
eyes remained watchful, knowing. Even bluer now that her true colors had been
revealed. They blistered him with a knowing look.

With a small
smile, she held out a hand.

In the
dreamscape, every movement was slow, and his taking of her hand was no
different. Raising it to his lips, he inhaled the scent of her skin, brushing
his lips over her knuckles, lingering.

His eyes flicked
up. Breathless was how she looked, sensual and slumberous as she watched him
out of hooded eyes.

His groin was on
fire, his belly in knots as he longed to yank her to him, gather her skirts up
and ride them both to ecstasy.

She waited for
him to speak, but he couldn’t find the words to describe her beauty, every one
trite and cliché. Every one fell short.

So he took the
hand he still held and pressed it inside his jacket, against his racing heart.
As her smile floated away, he moved in as close as the steps allowed.

“I burn,” he
said softly. He held her gaze as his breath whispered across her cheek.

She quivered.

About the Author:

Sophie H. Morgan is a paranormal romance author with a love for hot guys, sassy heroines, and HEAs that seem impossible. When not at the keyboard working out ways to drive her characters into each other’s arms, you can find her rambling about the English countryside with her crazy spaniels, shopping for one more pair of shoes, or devouring yet ANOTHER romance novel with ANOTHER bag of raisin cookies.